


Here We Make Our Stand

by poisontaster



Category: CW Network RPF
Genre: Anal Sex, Dirty Talk, Jealousy, M/M, Multi, Possessive Behavior, Semi-Public Sex, Undecided Relationship(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-08-15
Updated: 2007-08-15
Packaged: 2018-05-02 07:19:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5239571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poisontaster/pseuds/poisontaster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They've all gone around in circles for years; someone's got to make a decision.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Here We Make Our Stand

**Author's Note:**

> This is a follow up to [One of Us Who Wants to Leave](http://jaredjenchris.livejournal.com/profile), but stands okay on its own.

He's only half-awake when someone crawls in the bed with him. Dimly he remembers the rasp of the key—a safe sound, a familiar sound—before drifting down again. So the warmth of another body is expected, as much as anything is, in this state of half-dream. Even welcome; he hates to sleep alone. But the shape, the heat, the _smell_ is all wrong—bar smell—whiskey and cigarettes and stale sweat.

 _Chris._ Jensen's eyelids slit, unwilling and crusty, as Chris nuzzles against the side of Jensen's face, his neck.

It's good. Familiar. But muzzily, Jensen knows there's a reason it's wrong, too.

_Jared._

"Chris," he mutters, growly and half-indistinct. Chris's hand is under his T-shirt, making lowering circles across Jensen's belly, pushing at the waistband of his shorts.

"Hey, Jenny." Chris smiles against Jensen's cheek, wide, delighted. His fingers hook under Jensen's shorts, slide down toward his cock.

Jensen twists his hips away. He wishes he was more awake for this but he can't seem to surface all the way, so fucking exhausted. "Can't," he offers finally, his off hand closing weakly over Chris's wrist. "Can't, man. _Can't._ Jared. Me 'n _Jared_."

Chris gets real still. For long enough that Jensen starts the slow spiral down into sleep again, adrift. Then, finally, Chris's hand pulls out of Jensen's boxers and he nudges against Jensen's face once, hard, like a cat. "Sleep, then," Chris says after a pause. "Just…sleep."

There's a note to his voice that Jensen can't figure out. Not right now, not like this. He sorta promises himself to think about it later, when he's more awake. More…with the use of his brain. Chris curls up against Jensen's side and Jensen puts out an arm by reflex to gather him in.

_Sleep._

Jensen opens his eyes again and sees Jared standing over him. There's no expression on Jared's face. Of course, with Jared, there never has to be. Jensen is conscious of Chris tangled in the bed with him, tangled _around_ him and he says, out loud, "It's not what you think."

A second later, he could kick himself for the Hollywood cliché of it, but Jared only nods and walks out.

Jensen doesn't think he's ever woken so completely so fast, not even the time Mackenzie dumped a bucket of cold water over him for 'embarrassing her' the night before. Chris hardly stirs as Jensen unwraps himself and jumps up; just a sigh and a shift to take up more of the available space.

"Jay." Heading for the front door, Jensen completely bypasses the kitchen and has to back up a few steps because Jared's standing at the coffee maker, opening up a bag of Jensen's precious Jamaica Blue Mountain. Jensen stands in the doorway because his feet flat out refuse to take him any further, belly twittering and flittering like he's just run twenty miles. He doesn't know what to say and he's not sure he could say it anyway, his mouth too sour and dry to talk.

"It's not what you think," he says again, because they're the only words he has left, rattling around the hollow spaces along with his panic.

"How do you know what I think, Jen?"

That rocks him back a step. Jared doesn't sound mad. But then again, Jensen lacks a word to describe exactly how Jared _does_ sound. And with Jared's back to him, Jensen can't see his face. His tongue rasps across skin that feels dry as sandpaper. "I don't," he admits finally.

 _Please don't let this be fucked up,_ he thinks.

"He just…he just showed up. I was sleeping…nothing happened. It was…it was just sleep."

He doesn't know if Jared believes him. He doesn't know if he'd believe him, if the positions were reversed. Jensen spent so much time dithering back and forth between the two of them—wanting and never having—that his credibility is probably shot to shit.

Walking across the kitchen floor to Jared is quite possibly the most difficult thing Jensen's ever done. He tries to think of how he's going to explain it to Eric and Kim if he walks in with a black eye or a broken nose…or a broken hand because he's laid Chris out for doing this to him. "We were just sleeping." He's repeating himself like an idiot but he doesn't know what else to say, the fear looming large and stealing all his words. "Jay." He puts his hand on the small of Jared's back tentatively. Jared doesn't flinch and Jensen figures that's something.

Then Jared turns, long arms looping around Jensen's shoulders. Jensen doesn't even know how it happens, but he ends up spun around and shoved against the breakfast bar, palms skidding across the smooth granite. Jared is pressed against his back from shoulders to knees, grinding his cock hard into the cleft of Jensen's ass; up-down and slow, spiraling circles that make Jensen not even care if Jared's angry, pushing back into it with breathless, whining want.

"I know you didn't do anything, Jen." Jared pushes his mouth right up against Jensen's ear, heated, damp pants that short-circuits his higher brain function and pour all his blood into his cock. Jared's hands slide across Jensen's belly, pulling him backwards harder, and then slip down, fingertips hooking in Jensen's boxers and dragging them down below the curve of his ass. "Doesn't mean I ain't gonna fuck you right here anyway."

Jensen groans; can't help it, hips fucking forward and then back. Still, he's got the presence of mind to reach back and tangle his fingers in Jared's hair and stammer, "J-Jay…Chris. _Chris._ He's still here."

Jared laughs, low and evil chuckles that cascade over Jensen's skin like chips of dry ice—alternately burning and freezing. "You think I forgot?" His hands fumble in the small of Jensen's back, accompanied by the clink and slur of his belt and zipper. A moment later, he's pressing against Jensen again, the slide of his cock unimpeded by anything more than friction. "Naw. Gonna spread that fine ass and fuck you right here, Jen. What you got for lube?"

"I…Fuck. _Fuck._ " Jared's gnawing the back of his neck and the head of Jared's cock is pushing _just right_ against his ass and Jensen can't think. It's too early and he hasn't had any caffeine and he's so damned horny right now that he'd bark like a dog if Jared asked him to and he just. Can't. Think. "I don't know."

"Not a good answer," Jared chides, the laughter still shivering through his tone. He fumbles across Jensen's jaw, fingers dragging across Jensen's bottom lip. Jensen's mouth opens like it's on automatic pilot and then Jared's fingers are there. "Suck." And Jensen does, because there's just nothing else to do.

It burns like a sonofabitch when Jared shoves those fingers into him and never mind all the spit Jensen laved on them. Jared's got one hand on the back of Jensen's neck at this point, holding him down, and Jensen grinds his forehead against the counter, breathing hard and making quiet little whimpers that he can't even feel ashamed of, scrambled between the _oh, fuck, hurts_ and the _oh, please, more_.

"Jared," he gasps, "oh…oh, _dammit,_ Jared…"

"Yeah." Jared sounds distracted and guttural. One set of his fingers stay curved around Jensen's nape but the rest go and his body moves away, leaving Jensen uncovered and empty and cold. Jensen shivers and Jared pushes up into his scalp and then back to his neck in rough caress. "Hang on, Jen."

Jensen hangs on. He hears Jared fumbling through the stuff on the counter. He doesn't look up, pushing back into the grip on his neck and panting in time to the throb of his dick. It's the rest of his life later when Jared comes back, shoving bluntly between Jensen's cheeks and smearing oil—smells like olive oil—down his crack and across his hole. Jensen's got time for about half an inhale and then Jared's fingers are in him again, smoother this time, better. Jensen grunts, shivers and pushes back to take Jared deeper and more fully.

Jared leans over his back again, licking wetly at the curve of Jensen's ear. Then, dripping dark promises, Jared murmurs, "Fuck, Jen, you're so hungry for it, aren't you? Ass sucking on my fingers like a mouth. But it's not enough, is it?"

"No," Jensen whispers, the vowel elongating into teeth-clenched whimpers when Jared fingers across the nub of his prostate.

"Won't be happy until it's my cock slipping there inside you, rubbing you just right…"

"Jared, quit fucking around and just…oh… _oh_ …" Jensen's nails rasp across the granite and his weight shifts backwards, legs spreading wider as Jared baits-and-switches, driving into Jensen in one long thrust. "Fuck," Jensen swears weakly.

"You can take it." There's no doubt in Jared's tone as he slides his arm under Jensen's chest pulling him upright and back, impaling Jensen deeper. "Know you can take it, baby. Know you can. Take all that dick."

Jensen reaches up and slings his arm around Jared's neck awkwardly. His legs feel weak and heavy and he needs the extra support. "Damn right I can," he pants, his own cock slapping damp against his belly as Jared bows him back. "Fuck you, Jared; that all you got?"

Jared laughs again, hips starting to work, that same crazy spiral-twist that just about drove Jensen crazy when it was on the outside, now all new and definitely improved. Jensen laughs with him, feeling sweet and happy and stretched in all the right ways around the steel-hard cock in his ass. "Naw, Jen. We're just getting started."

Jensen closes his eyes and lets his head fall back onto Jared's shoulder, pushing back as best he can. One of Jared's hands is spread wide over his stomach; Jensen tangles his fingers through Jared's and drags downward until Jared's palm curves around his cock.

"Oh, you want this?" Jared asks in that same smoke and menace tone, stroking Jensen slow and loose—too much of either to get him where he wants—needs—to go. "Such a pretty goddamn cock; seems a shame to neglect it."

"Such an asshole when you're all toppy," Jensen groans, grinding his cheek into Jared's shoulder. "Jared…swear to God, I will call you any damn thing you want…I'll call you _daddy_ , if you'll quit fucking around and _fuck me_."

Jared clicks his tongue in mock reproach. "And here I thought we were putting on a show for your friend here." The grip on Jensen's dick turns hard, punishing…and yet it's exactly what Jensen wants. Jared nuzzles into Jensen's hair, teeth scraping in savage playfulness. "Open your eyes, Jenny."

Jensen does and not just because Jared's using that hated nickname. He'd forgotten Chris in the pleasure of Jared fucking him silly but he remembers now, spotting him from the corner of his eye. He turns his head.

Chris being Chris, he makes no bones about doing anything other than watching the two of them fuck, leaning lazy against the jamb with his arms crossed and a dark heat in his eyes that Jensen can't tell for lust or anger. Jensen guesses it shouldn't matter anymore; he'd stopped waiting for Chris to pull his head out of his ass about Dave a while ago and him and Jared are him and Jared—whatever that means—but it's hard to let go of that old anxiety, that old want. It's hard to stand naked with Jared inside him and not flinch away, trying to cover himself. His cock—lowly traitor—throbs and spurts, driving him abruptly close to the edge of orgasm.

"You like what you see, Chris?" The edge in Jared's voice keeps it from being conversational and Jensen feels a stab of irritation that he's reduced to being the bone between two surly, possessive dogs, but it's hard to care too much with Jared working miracles deep in his ass and on his cock.

"Pretty as a picture," Chris sing-songs in reply. His tone is equally barbed, but there's something else in it too, something Jensen doesn't have the brain cells to untangle. Jensen doesn't make the mistake of thinking that twinkle in Chris's eye is all friendly, though. "Y'all need a third?"

Jensen's breath hitches, for reasons he doesn't want to look to deeply into. They'd done that once, way back near the start, and it had been good and it had been bad, and Jensen hadn't quite dared to ask either one of them for it again.

But things are different now. And Jensen's made his choices. Cut his losses.

Jared's hand—the one not jerking him—slips from around Jensen's shoulder, digs into his hip instead, nails first. Jensen folds like a hand of cards, planting his elbows on the counter as Jared gets more…emphatic about his fucking. "Actually," Jensen has to force the words out through the moans and whimpers crowding his throat, so fucking close he could cry, "I think…" He breathes out. "I think it's time for you to go, Chris."

Jared jabs especially deep then, grinding just so, just _right_ , and Jensen cries out, spilling thick and messy through his and Jared's entwined fingers. When he looks up again, when he _can_ , the doorway is empty.

Chris is gone.


End file.
